


I'd Rather Have You (if you'd have me too)

by DoctorTrekLock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anniversary, College AU, Coming Out, Domestic, Fluff, Getting Together, High School AU, I'm Sorry, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentions of John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Poetry, Prom, Promposal, SO MUCH FLUFF, Scrapbooks, adorable coupley things, brief homophobic language, but really not, still a prose piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 00:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: I’m starting to thinkThis isn’t what MomWould want for meCas, take me to Prom?Prose





	I'd Rather Have You (if you'd have me too)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tumblr: "You're hella gay, I'm hella str8..."](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/418895) by anthonysexc. 



> This was inspired by a [post on tumblr](http://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/158356522072/klubbhead-happylitttlephil-queentinyplugs) about a nifty poetic Promposal that was totally about irl bros before I started shipping Destiel things. http://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/158356522072/klubbhead-happylitttlephil-queentinyplugs
> 
> Thanks again as always to my betas: ImprobableDreams900 and Spinner12, the former of whom said I had no sense of meter and tweaked my poems until they worked. So thanks, m'dear. :-)

_Cas, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and—_

_Cas, I still think a lot about the first time we met and you pushed ~~that dick~~ Uriel into the pool, and—_

_Cas, I’m sure you know that Prom is coming up and there is no one else—_

Dean didn’t even bother crumpling up this piece of paper, just shoved it off the side of his desk directly into the garbage can. He let out a frustrated groan and leaned back in his chair, gripping his hair with both hands he tried to find the right combination of words that would lead to him and his best friend Cas going to Prom – _together_.

“Dean?” Sam’s tentative voice came from the half-open door. “Can you help me with this algebra problem?”

Dean relaxed and spun around in his chair, kicking the door open with his foot. “Sure, Sammy, c’mon in. Not sure how much help I’ll be, but I can’t make it worse.” Anything to keep him from staring at another blank piece of paper and slowly losing his mind.

Sam made a face as he came in and sat on the edge of the bed, algebra textbook and notebook in hand. “Don’t say that, Dean. You’re good at math; you’re even in calculus now!”

Dean waved off the comment as he sat down next to his little brother. “What seems to be the problem?” He looked at the equation Sam was pointing to in the book. It was towards the end of the assignment, just before the word problems. He let out a low whistle. “That one’s a bit tricky, alright. The trick is knowing what order to deal with the inequality, the absolute value, and the square root.” He grabbed the notebook and reached for Sam’s pencil, then hesitated. “Do you have a spare piece of paper I could use to show you? I don’t want your teacher thinking you’re cheating on your homework.”

Sam looked over at his notebook woefully. “I think I’m out of pages in that one.” His eyes lit up as he spotted the loose sheets in Dean’s garbage can. Before Dean could stop him, he had leapt off the bed, algebra book held awkwardly against his legs, and plucked the uncrinkled sheet from the top of the bin. “You could use this one! Why’d you throw it out, anyway?”

Before Dean could stop him – before Dean could remember to breathe at all – Sam had turned the page around and found the single line of text written across the top. _Cas, I’m sure you know that Prom is coming up and there is no one else—_

There was no pretending that this wasn’t happening, so Dean took the high road, closing his eyes tight and grimacing as he imagined all the things Sam could be thinking right now. _Not_ my _brother! Faggot! You don’t think Cas actually likes you, do you? Ha! You call this a Prom invite? I could write something better in my sleep!_

He heard none of that. Instead, he felt the bed sink down next to him and heard Sam ask “Could you show me this problem, Dean?”

He opened his eyes hesitantly. Sam was sitting next to him, textbook open on his lap, holding out his pencil and the piece of paper, embarrassing words mercifully facing down. Dean hesitantly took the pencil and the paper with shaking hands, and, using the notebook as a desk, showed his brother how to solve the complex inequality. He could see the pencil moving, drawing equations and number lines, and he could hear his voice in his ears, explaining the problem in a calm voice, but it all seemed a million miles away. Somehow, he had gotten none of the expected reactions from Sam. _Yet_ , anyway. It was only a matter of time.

Dean finished the problem, writing the answer neatly in interval notation at the bottom of the page. He paused, then handed the paper, notebook, and pencil back to Sam, not looking up from where his gaze was firmly planted on his right knee.

He could vaguely hear Sam’s thanks as he collected his homework and started to leave the room. He paused in the doorway. “I think you should ask him,” Sam said in a low voice. Dean jerked his head up and stared at his brother with wide eyes. What was he saying? “I—” Sam started, seeming encouraged by Dean’s response. “I think he would like that.”

“But—” Dean’s throat was dry. “But Dad,” he protested, listing the biggest of the half-dozen hurdles he anticipated between him and his perfect Prom, complete with awkward, blue-eyed, _male_ date.

Sam’s expression grew fierce, reminding Dean of when he had gotten into a shouting match with their father over quitting baseball. “It’s your life, Dean. Not Dad’s. Even if he kicks you out, you’re eighteen. You can do anything you want. And you’re leaving for school next year anyway.” There seemed to be more things Sam wanted to say, but was having trouble finding the words for. “Just…you don’t have to hide anymore, Dean.” His face was earnest. “You’re my brother, no matter what.”

Dean sputtered a bit at that. “I’m not _gay_!” he retorted, “Just a little bisexual!” He snapped his mouth shut at what he had just admitted.

Sam mouth turned up into something between a smile and a smirk. “Hella bisexual,” he corrected. “But that’s okay. I hear Cas is hella gay.” He turned to go, but stopped again, turning to give Dean some final advice. “Just ask him to Prom. It can’t be that hard; all the other guys are doing it.” With a shrug and those parting words, Sam was gone.

Dean slumped back on his bed. “It can’t be that hard; all the other guys are doing it,” he mocked in a high-pitched voice. His sigh turned into a groan, and he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes before relaxing back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

What all the other guys are doing… What all the other guys were doing was making huge grand gestures, the kinds of things that Dean would never force on anyone, let alone his best friend. And all of those things seemed so _expensive_. It was all roses and music and PROM? spelled out in balloons on the yard, usually accompanied by the recitation of a cheesy poem.

He hadn’t gone to Prom last year, so Dean had been able to relax and enjoy watching the rest of the junior and senior guys embarrass themselves asking out their dates. He and Cas had shared a laugh over some of the more ridiculous stunts. Dean paused. If he remembered correctly, Cas had always seemed to find the ones with cheesy poems kind of adorable (which was adorable in and of itself).

Dean remembered talking to Cas after Garth asked Hannah using the couplet “I know I’m a bit late, but will you be my Prom date?” Dean had thought it was tacky and cheesy as hell, but Cas had insisted that it was a sweet, romantic gesture. He had argued that “No matter how lacking you may find the result, Dean, it showed how much thought Garth had put into asking Hannah to Prom and how much he valued her.” Dean still hadn’t agreed, but it was hard to argue with Cas when his eyes got all wide and blue like that, so he’d let the subject drop.

Cas would love getting asked to Prom with a poem. Dean groaned aloud again and covered his face with his hands. That meant that _he_ would have to write one. Damn it. Not in front of everyone, though; he wouldn’t read it in front of the whole school. No, he decided, if he was going to do this it was going to only be for Cas. Just Cas.

But where to start? Dean’s thoughts wandered back to his conversation with Sam. What had he said? Cas was “hella gay”? Dean smirked. He could work with that.

Dean pushed himself off the bed and sat down at his desk, pulling a fresh piece of paper out of the drawer. What to say, what to say… He put his pencil to paper and began writing.

***

There had been a letter in his locker. Castiel dove for it, snatching it off the floor just before Bartholomew could walk over it. The boy smirked at Cas as he passed.

Castiel stood in front of his locker, letter clutched to his chest in one hand, textbooks threatening to fall from the other. He gently set the letter back on the shelf at the top of his locker, then stowed his books at the bottom. It was warm enough that he hadn’t brought a jacket to school, so he just swung his backpack over his shoulders before grabbing the letter and shutting his locker.

Around him, the few seniors who still had to catch the bus hurried to gather their stuff. The luckier segment of the population was slower to leave their lockers, chatting with friends before they made their way to their cars. Cas figured most of the conversation was probably about Prom. Couples had to be signed up by the end of the week, so the more procrastinatory of the askers were scrambling to pull together last-minute requests.

He could hear Anna and Hael gossiping about anticipated proposals behind him. He looked down the hallway to see if he could catch a glimpse of his best friend. Dean had said that he’d give Cas a ride home today.

“So Gabriel’s going with Kali and Balthazar’s going to ask Miriam,” Hael recapped. “Who does that leave?”

“No one knows if Dean’s asked anyone yet,” Cas overheard Anna point out.

“I thought he was asking Lisa?”

“He can’t.” Anna sounded gleeful. “She’s going with Benny.”

Cas’s fingers clenched slightly and he could feel paper crumple in his grip. He looked down in surprise. He had forgotten about the letter already. He smoothed it out as best he could between his fingers and turned it over. Across the front his name, _Castiel_ , was written in a rough scrawl he recognized as Dean’s handwriting.

He frowned a little in confusion and opened the folded piece of paper. A series of short lines greeted him. His eyes scanned them quickly. It looked like a poem. His gaze caught on a word at the bottom: “Prom?” His eyes widened and jumped back at the top so he could read it properly.

_You’re hella gay_  
_And I’m hella bi_  
_But I’m in the closet  
_ _And, Cas, you know why_

_But I’ve come to believe_  
_That to never come out_  
_Would be to err  
_ _Without a doubt_

_I could please my dad_  
_And ask out a girl_  
_But she isn’t you  
_ _And that makes me hurl_

_I’m starting to think_  
_This isn’t what Mom_  
_Would want for me  
_ _Cas, take me to Prom?_

_Dean_

His breath caught in his throat. Was this— Had Dean really— Was he just— Could it be— Was this really—

“I see you got my letter.”

Cas’s head snapped up from the piece of paper in his hand. Dean was standing in front of him, shuffling nervously from side to side, his fingers tapping restlessly on the side of his leg.

“Is this— Are you—” Cas tried. He took a breath. “Are you serious?”

Dean’s eyes met his gaze, slid away, and then looked back. “Yes.” He jerked his head a little in a facsimile of a nod. “Yeah, Cas. It’s serious.” He flattened his hand against his leg. “I…I was trying to figure out how to ask.”

Behind him, Anna and Hael had gone silent. Cas wasn’t sure what to say. “ _Dean_ ,” he breathed.

Dean’s face scrunched up a bit. “Is…that a yes?” he asked.

“Yes.” Cas couldn’t stop a huge smile from spreading across his face. “Oh god, Dean, of course it’s a yes.”

Anna and Hael started whispering furiously, but Cas didn’t pay them any mind. He rushed across the three steps between them and threw his arms around Dean, the letter still clutched in his hand crinkling beneath his fingers. He could feel Dean’s fingers pressing into his back and the shaky exhale of Dean’s breath on his neck as the other teen – his _Prom date_ – returned the hug. “You, Dean Winchester, are the bravest man I have ever met,” he whispered in Dean’s ear.

Dean’s grip tightened in response.

***

The next four years flew by in a blur and before Dean knew it they were three weeks shy of graduating from college. Normally at this point in the semester they were both too tired to contemplate cooking, but today was a special occasion. He had been all for counting their relationship from the day they met at a pool party in second grade, and Cas had been inclined toward their first kiss on the night of Prom, but they’d compromised on the day Dean had asked Cas to Prom, so today was their anniversary.

Cas had a late class, so Dean was making dinner. Nothing too fancy; they were on a student budget after all, just spaghetti and homemade tomato sauce. If they were anyone else, he might have spruced up their shoebox apartment with a few candles, but the flickering flames reminded Dean too much of his mother and even a little smoke made Cas’s eyes itch. Instead, he had a dozen of those small, battery-powered tea lights that he scattered across the apartment: one on each side of the bed, one balanced on the sink in the bathroom, two on the TV cabinet, three clustered together in the center of the table, two on the kitchen counter, one on top of the fridge, and one taped precariously to the hook inside the front door where Cas would hang his messenger bag when he got back from class. It was perfect.

When Cas came in, he inevitably knocked the tea light off the hook. Dean burst into laughter at Cas’s exaggerated disappointment before he scooped the light up and bestowed it, quite ceremoniously, atop Dean’s head. Dean balanced it there solemnly until he met Cas’s eyes, at which point he couldn’t quite contain his sniggers, and the light fell off. This led to a mad scramble to catch it, which ended with the tea light securely taped sideways to the front of the microwave.

Aside from that, dinner went off without a hitch.

Afterwards, they folded themselves together on the couch, Dean’s arms wrapped around Cas’s waist as he reclined against Dean.

“I, uh, I got you something,” Dean murmured in his ear.

“Hmm?” Cas stretched against him. “What’d you get me?”

“I was talking to my advisor about some stuff, and Cain mentioned he’s got a bee farm near Peoria.”

Cas wriggled in Dean’s arms until he was half-turned and could see him better. The look of delight on his face made Dean grin involuntarily. “Really?” he asked, and Dean had to laugh at his boyfriend’s impression of a kid in a candy story.

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat roughly and his arms tightened slightly around Cas’s waist. “I was thinking we could go this summer, maybe stop by Champaign on the way so I can get a look at the campus before classes start this fall.”

Cas just stared at him for a moment before the smile on his face grew even broader and his eyes lit up in a mixture of joy, wonder, and – was that _pride_? Dean could feel his cheeks grow warm at the thought of anyone – much less _Cas_ – looking at him like that. “Really?” he repeated, breathless with excitement this time.

“Yeah.” Dean would have raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, but Cas had a tight grip on his biceps. “I was thinking about what you said, so I just applied, y’know?” He couldn’t quite meet Cas’s eyes. “And there was a Skype interview, but they liked my application, and—” Dean was cut off by a firm kiss.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas said, then interrupted himself to give Dean another kiss, twisting until he was kneeling over Dean on the narrow couch. “You are a wonder.” Another kiss, and the heat was definitely not leaving his cheeks. “I love you.” Cas’s hands slid up to cradle Dean’s head. “I am so _proud_ of you.” Another firm kiss punctuated his sentence.

Dean was sure the flush had spread all the way up his ears by this point. “It’s not the thesis option,” he cautioned. “So I’m not eligible for tuition assistance, but I was thinking of going part-time for a couple years.” His hands rested comfortably on Cas’s lower back. Dean marveled at the beautiful man in front of him who could somehow be proud of Dean Winchester. “It’s only two hours south of Chicago, so I figured we could make it work.”

Cas growled and kissed Dean so forcefully he pinned the other man against the arm of the couch. “I love you,” he repeated seriously.

Dean reeled him back in in an attempt to halt the flow of adoration that was making his ears burn. After a few minutes, Cas pulled away and braced himself with a hand on Dean’s chest. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He looked abashed. “I got you something, too.”

Cas used the hand on Dean to keep from faceplanting off the seat as he reached under the couch to pull out a flat, wrapped package. He sat back so he was resting on his heels, still straddling Dean’s thighs, and handed the gift over with a ceremonial flourish.

Dean propped himself up a little higher against the arm of the couch and took the gift, tearing into the brown parcel paper immediately, much to his boyfriend’s amusement. A book fell out, a little larger than a composition notebook, with a black leather cover.

Dean picked it up and gave it a considering look. “Did you get me a journal, Cas?” he teased with an affectionate grin.

Cas’s answering smile was a little tight, and he nervously shifted his weight. Dean dropped a hand to Cas’s thigh and rubbed it reassuringly. “Hey,” he said, catching Cas’s eye. “I’m sure it’s great.” Cas’s smile was more relaxed this time.

Dean opened it a little in the middle to check which cover was the front and paused. “Is that—?” He turned the book around so it was right side up. “Is this—?” He flipped to the first page. “Did you—?” He looked up at Cas in amazement. “C’mere.” He pulled Cas in for a kiss.

After the kiss ended, they smiled at each other from a few inches away. “I love you,” Dean said in a low voice, his voice rough. “It’s perfect.”

After a few more moments, Dean dropped his gaze from Cas’s eyes to the book cradled in his lap between them, running his fingers gently across the worn and wrinkled piece of notebook paper adhered there, tracing the lines he had penned four years earlier. He turned the page and looked at the next poem. And the next. And the next.

Each page had a poem on it. It had become their communication method of choice, a way of reminding them of that first poem. A silent _I love you_. There were hundreds of them scattered across the pages. Couplets on the backs of receipts, quatrains on napkins, the time Cas had gotten overly ambitious and written him a sonnet on loose-leaf. They were all here. Cas had saved all of them.

Dean looked back up at Cas in wonder. His boyfriend leaned forward to tap on a page with a sticky note on it.

_You know that I love you_  
_This year’s been a dream_  
_But if you don’t do the dishes  
_ _I think I might scream_

“That’s one of my favorites,” Cas said with a smile. “It was the first time you told me you loved me.”

It had been spring of their freshman year. Cas and Dean had been roommates, but Cas’s half of the room tended to devolve pretty heavily into chaos as the semester wore on, while Dean’s side was messy but tidy year-round. Three weeks before finals, Cas had given up on attempting to clean dishes in the small common sink on their floor. The mugs and plates had piled up and Dean had started muttering passive-aggressive comments under his breath whenever Cas added to the teetering stack. One day Cas had come back to the dorm room to find an unopened bottle of dish soap on his desk with this bright yellow sticky note on it. He’d kissed his boyfriend thoroughly and then washed his dishes.

Dean smiled at the memory and flipped forward a few pages, Dean’s hand-scrawled pages sharing space with Cas’s carefully penned lettering. He landed on a new page and his smile faded, fingers tightening on the edges of the book. He remembered this one vividly.

They’d been living off-campus for about three months at that point, near the end of fall semester of their junior year. Dean had been ignoring his father’s calls all day, but John had kept calling, so he’d left his phone behind when he went to class. Their relationship had warmed slightly since their knock-down, drag-out fight just after his high school graduation, but Dean still tried to avoid the man whenever possible. Cas had evidently noticed when the phone rang again, because Dean had come home to this little gem:

_John called again_  
_The third time today_  
_I think you should hear  
_ _What he has to say_

_I know that you don’t_  
_Get along with your dad_  
_But maybe it’s urgent  
_ _It could be real bad_

_Don’t try to avoid this_  
_I know that’s your way_  
_But I know you, my love  
_ _And the tricks that you play_

Dean hadn’t really appreciated it at the time, but one of the things he loved about Cas was that he called him on his shit, so the next time John had called, he’d picked up. That’s when his father told him that Bobby had died. Ever since, if John called more than once, Dean picked up.

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, closed his eyes, and quickly flipped to a new page. He took a long, slow breath and let it out before opening his eyes. There was a photo of a large paper sign that had hung on their bedroom door for six days before Cas had finally done laundry and it had been ceremoniously removed and recycled.

_Being with you_  
_Is never a chore_  
_But you know that your clothes  
_ _Don’t belong on the floor_

“I remember this,” Dean said, running his finger along the edge of the photo.

“The whole poster didn’t fit,” Cas explained wryly.

Dean hummed in amusement and flipped through the remaining pages, the last four years of their lives laid out on the pages in front of him. He was only halfway through the book when he got to the most recent poem.

He and Cas had been leaving the grocery store last Thursday when Dean had stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot. Cas had asked what was wrong and he had admitted that they needed milk and it had slipped his mind. Cas had just looked at him before they’d stowed their groceries in the trunk of the Impala and turned back toward the store.

As they strode back across the parking lot, Dean had reached out and tried to grab Cas’s hand. His boyfriend had evaded him with an amused quirk of his lips.

“C’mon, man,” Dean had complained.

“If you’d added milk to the grocery list / well then, perhaps, you would have been kissed,” Cas had quipped.

“So we’re holding kisses ransom now?” Dean had retorted.

That shopping list was attached to this page, the couplet scribbled along the edge next to “bread,” “bacon,” “honey _seriously, Cas?_ ,” “pie _really, Dean?_ ,” and “beer.”

“Seriously,” Dean looked up at Cas. “Thank you. I know this must have been a lot of work and I’m glad that we’ve got this.” He was about to close the book when Cas stopped him with a hand on the spread pages. There was a muscle flexing in his jaw and the corners of his eyes were pinched the way they only were before handing in a big final paper.

“Cas?”

His boyfriend just took a short breath and turned the page.

Dean had expected it to be blank like the remainder of the book, but there were a series of verses there, carefully shaped letters forming well-spaced lines.

_You’re “hella bi”_  
_And I’m “hella gay”_  
_But I loved you the moment  
_ _You first said “Hey”_

_We’ve been through a lot_  
_Through college and debt_  
_You’re still the bravest man  
_ _I ever have met_

_When we moved in together_  
_There were conflicts and fights_  
_But we were always united  
_ _When we put out the lights_

_When I think of what’s next,_  
_In every future I see_  
_I am always with you  
_ _Dean, please marry me._

“Cas,” he breathed. He looked up, eyes wide, to find an outstretched hand holding a ring box. Cas’s eyes were a little wild, his hair a mess, and he was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen.

“Marry me?” Cas whispered.

All Dean could really do in the face of that was to drop the book into his lap, grab Cas with both hands, and pull his fiancé into a deep kiss. The ring box fell onto the spread pages as Cas reciprocated. When air became more of a necessity than a desire, Dean pulled back. “Yes. Yes, of course, Cas.”

Cas’s smile was wide, joyful and uncomplicated. They grinned at each other for a few seconds before Cas picked up the ring box again and handed it to Dean.

As he opened it, Cas started explaining. “I know it’s traditional to propose with a single ring, but then you always have one person with two rings and the other with only one. So I figured we’d just have one ring apiece.” The two simple silver wedding bands were nestled next to each other in the box, light playing off of the diagonal weave etched into the surfaces, thin bands of smooth silver bracketing the texture on the top and bottom.

“I love you,” Dean said, because those were really the only words he had left.

“I love you, too,” Cas said in reply. They shared a simple kiss, fighting smiles before giving up and resting their foreheads together, sharing space in an intimate moment.

Then Dean blinked. “Wait. You almost _forgot_ to propose to me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Cas's defense: “I was distracted! You had just told me you’re going to _grad school_ , Dean. I was excited!”
> 
> Dean is going to be pursuing an MS in Mechanical Engineering at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (<https://mechanical.illinois.edu/graduate/ms-programs>), which does happen to be a convenient 2 hour drive from the University of Chicago, where Cas will be working on a PhD in Anthropology.


End file.
